What are you, my
twin?
You touch me like you are my twin.
What are you, my God?
You
affect me like you are my God.
Aaron is a lot smarter than other
people give him credit for. He knows that his music is stupid, little kid
bullshit written by old men to make little girls cream their white satin
panties. He knows that a fifteen-year-old kid should not be shirtless in front
of hundreds, thousands of people. He knows that he’s extremely fucked up
already, and that there’s probably no real way to unfuck him, even if he quit
the business now and started therapy immediately.
He knows that you’re
not supposed to kiss your brother a certain way, and you’re not supposed to fuck
your brother, and you’re not supposed to fall in love with your
brother.
He also knows that things don’t always go the way that they’re
supposed to. After all, if he had gone along the normal path of life, he would
be in school with people his own age right now; he would never have seen anyone
dead of an overdose, coke still caked white around their nostrils; he wouldn’t
have lost his virginity at 13 to someone well over the age of 35. Aaron’s life
is not normal, and he’s smart enough to fucking know that, no matter what he
says in interviews.
He knows that interviews and magazine articles do not
reflect real life, because people don’t like to hear the truth.
So Aaron
plays dumb in interviews, and pretends to be comfortable and well adjusted and
happy and shy and confident. And innocent, not at all jaded. People might think
Nick is dumb, but he’s the one who taught Aaron that word, because it was
something Aaron needed to know. What he is, how to label himself before someone
else could.
In interviews, Aaron pretends that he doesn’t even know what
jaded means, and that Nick is someone who only teaches him things about the
business and girls and sailing.
People think Nick is dumb, but that’s
because Nick was just taught the wrong things, or not taught the things he was
supposed to know at all. You can’t school someone on a bus or over the phone, on
a different continent, and expect them to get dictionary definitions right. Nick
is smart, really, just in different ways that most people.
Nick is the
innocent one, though; or at the very least, less jaded than Aaron. Nick had
brothers around him to make sure that he didn’t get too fucked up in his
youth—they couldn’t stop it completely, of course, but they could slow it down,
reroute it like the car crash that it was. Aaron had his brother around, too,
but not enough. Their lives went in two different directions. The car crashed.
Nick couldn’t do anything but watch the flames and try to fix the
damage.
That is how it started, after all, with Aaron being wounded and
Nicky trying to bandage up the scrapes and the cuts and the bruises. The wounds
being purely metaphorical, mostly, but Nick still trying to baby Aaron with soup
and blankets and a shoulder to cry on, when all Aaron really wanted was someone
who didn’t treat him like a child or an idiot, someone who would touch him who
also loved him, who didn’t just see him as skin, something to sell, like all
those record exec fucks.
So Aaron kissed him, and fucked him, and fell in
love with him. And Nick kissed him back, and made love to him with gentle hands,
and cried in the bathroom at night when he thought Aaron was sleeping, because
he thought he was corrupting something innocent, even as he called him jaded
with a crooked smile.
Eventually Nick got over it, and just kissed him
without crying, and touched him with gentle hands, and accepted that this was
what Aaron wanted, what made Aaron happy. Nick is so innocent that he actually
believes that happiness is all that matters, and that love is all you need, just
like the Beatles song says. Its kind of beautiful, actually, that sort of
belief.
Aaron kind of regrets the way that it happened—fucking, and then
falling in love. He’s smart enough to know that that’s not the way it’s supposed
to go, either. He’s getting sort of used to doing everything backwards, or just
the wrong way altogether, like he lives in a mirror world of reality. He also
knows that Nick loved him before they fucked, before they’d even kissed. Had
probably been in love with him, because Nick doesn’t really know how to
differentiate loving someone and being in love with them; part and parcel of
being a Backstreet Boy.
The point is, they love each other. And even
though Aaron knows its wrong, he knows also that there’s no way to stop loving,
to press a button somewhere and say pause, quit, I’m stopping now.
He
also knows that somehow, he has to stop. Because Nick may be older, and in some
ways wiser, but he’s the innocent one. He’s the one who doesn’t know that love
can be wrong but still beautiful and needed; doesn’t know that some people have
to destroy other people’s happiness just because it doesn’t fall into line with
their moral code.
Mom saw them together.
It was early morning, and
they were at home, and they had fallen asleep together on Nick’s bed. Aaron woke
up first, stretched and smiled in the sunlight and just…looked at Nick. Just
looked at him. Looked at the familiar angles of his face and wondered how he
could love someone that was at once so like himself, and yet so very different.
They weren’t even naked. Aaron was on top of the covers, and Nick was
beneath them, and there was a good six inches in between them of blanket and
pillow and bed frame. Somehow, though, Mom looked into that space and saw
something. Maybe not exactly what was actually there, but something.
She
didn’t go to Nick about it. If there’s one thing Mom knows, it’s her kids—she’s
made a business of it, after all. And she knows that Aaron is the one who calls
the shots, that Nick is the one who would do anything for Aaron. Even this, even
anything, even everything.
Of course, being Mom, she didn’t really come
out and say what she meant. That would mean admitting that there was something
wrong with her perfect boys and her perfect family and her perfect mothering
skills. But she knew, and when she talked to Aaron he knew exactly what she was
saying, even through all the Jane Carter bullshit code.
Not that she’d
ever say anything about it to the press until Aaron was 18 and not making money
for her anymore, of course. But 18 isn’t all that far away, really, even if it
feels like an eternity sometimes. And even if most people would think that Mom’s
little dropped hints of something unhealthy about her boys’ relationship were
just the rantings of a stage mother denied her cash cow, some people would
actually believe her, because there are always people willing to believe the
truth.
Both would be the truth. Are the truth, in a way. Interesting,
that those two separate truths actually exist in the same space, the same
universe.
It’s okay, though. Aaron is smart and capable and just innocent
enough to let go. To tell Nick that no, they have to stop, because this is
beautiful but its wrong, and Aaron doesn’t need it anymore, not like he used to.
And Nick will believe him, because he doesn’t think Aaron would ever lie to him,
and he’ll stop because he’s always loved Aaron in one way or another, and to him
it doesn’t really matter which way. Loving Aaron and being in love with Aaron
are the same thing, and fucking Aaron was just a way of proving that he loved
him.
Someday, Nick will love someone else.
Aaron, though, has
never been in love before. Has never had someone touch him with gentle hands and
love him unconditionally, love him first and his skin second. Angel may be his
twin, the other half of his egg, but Nick is his other half. The one who
understands, the one who see his wounds and says, yes, I used to have those; do
you want to see the scars? The one reassures him that one day he will
heal.
It’s okay though. Aaron is 15, and young, and old, and he will grow
up one day. One day he will touch someone who looks nothing like Nick, and not
remember the feel of calloused hands on his skin, and the taste of ink tattooed
into skin. He will not do things the wrong way.
Someday he will be able
to look into Nick’s eyes without seeing himself there, and hear Nick’s name
without flinching. But not right now.
Soon I’ll grow up and I won't
even flinch at your name…
Soon I'll grow up and I won't even flinch at your
name.
END
Lyrics from ‘Flinch’ by Alanis Morisette.